Possessed

By P. C. Cast

After Moonrise, the elite detective agency, crosses into the dark side, but it can be dangerous when the living communicate with the dead…

The picture Aurora Harper's painting is so disturbing she's convinced she's witnessed a murder and suppressed the memory. Now she needs Detective Levi Reid to help her track down the victim – and the killer. But Levi's dealing with his own issues, blacking out for no reason at all. They'll step into the dark together…but are they ready for what they might find?

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Aug 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781743698174

P. C. Cast

P.C. Cast is the author of the House of Night novels, including Marked, Betrayed, Chosen, and Untamed. Ms. Cast is a #1 New York Times and USA Today Best-Selling author and a member of the Oklahoma Writers Hall of Fame. With more than 20 million copies in print in over 40 countries, her novels have been awarded the prestigious Oklahoma Book Award, YALSA Quick Pick for Reluctant Readers, Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award, the Prism, Holt Medallion, Daphne du Maurier, Booksellers’ Best, and the Laurel Wreath. Ms. Cast was born in the Midwest and grew up being shuttled back and forth between Illinois and Oklahoma, which is where she fell in love with Quarter Horses and mythology. After high school she joined the United States Air Force and began public speaking and writing. After her tour in the USAF, she taught high school for 15 years before retiring to write full time. She now lives in Oregon surrounded by beloved cats, dogs, horses, and family.

Book preview

1

The bully’s dad caused Raef to discover his Gift. It happened twenty-five years ago, but to Raef the memory was as fresh as this morning’s coffee. You just don’t forget your first time. Not your first orgasm, your first drunk, your first kill and, not for damn sure, your first experience of being able to Track violent emotions.

The bully’s name was Brandon. He’d been a big kid; at thirteen he’d looked thirty-five—and a rough thirty-five at that. At least, that’s what he’d looked like through nine-year-old Raef’s eyes. Not that Brandon picked on Raef. He hadn’t—not especially. Brandon mostly liked to pick on girls. He didn’t hit ‘em. What he did was worse. He found out what scared them, and then he tortured them with fear.

Raef discovered why the day Brandon went after Christina Kambic with the dead bird. Christina wasn’t hot. Christina wasn’t ugly. She was just a girl who had seemed like every other teenage girl to young Raef: she had boobs and she talked a lot, two things that, even at nine, Raef had understood were part of the pleasure and the pain of females.

Brandon didn’t target Christina because of her boobs or her mouth.

He targeted her because somehow he had found out she was utterly, completely terrified of birds.

The part of the day that was burned into Raef’s memory began after school. Brandon had been walking home on the opposite side of the street from Raef and his best friend, Kevin. On Brandon’s side of the street was a group of girls. They were giggling and talking at about a zillion miles per hour. Brandon was ahead of them and, as usual, by himself. Brandon didn’t really have any friends. Raef had barely noticed him and only kinda remembered that he’d been kicking around something near the curb.

Raef and Kevin had been talking about baseball tryouts. He’d wanted to be shortstop. Kev had wanted to be the pitcher. Raef had been saying, Yeah, you got a better arm than Tommy. No way would Coach pick—

That’s when Christina’s bawling had started.

No, please no, stop! She was pleading while she cried. Two of her friends had screamed and run off down the street. Two more had stayed and were yelling at Brandon to stop.

Brandon ignored all of them. He’d backed Christina against the fence to Mr. Fulton’s front yard, taken the smashed body of what was obviously a road-killed crow and was holding it up, real close to Christina, and making stupid cawing noises while he laughed.

Please! Christina sobbed, her face in her hands, pressing herself against the wooden fence so hard that Raef had thought she might smash through it. I can’t stand it! Please stop!

Raef had thought about how big Brandon was, and how much older Brandon was, and he’d stood there across the street, ignoring Kevin and doing nothing. Then Brandon pushed the dead bird into Christina’s hair and the girl started screaming like she was being murdered.

Hey, this isn’t your business, Kevin had said when Raef sighed heavily and started crossing the street.

Doesn’t have to be my business. It just has to be mean, Raef had shot back over his shoulder at his friend.

Bein’ a hero’s gonna get you in a lot of trouble someday, Kevin had said.

Raef remembered silently agreeing with him. But still he kept crossing the street. He got to Brandon from behind. Quickly, like he was fielding a ball, he snatched the bird out of Christina’s hair, and threw it down the street. Way down the street.

What the fuck is your problem, asshole? Brandon shouted, looming over Raef like a crappy version of the Incredible Hulk.

Nothin’. I just think making a girl cry is stupid. Raef had looked around Brandon’s beefy body at Christina. Her feet musta been frozen because she was still standing there, bawling and shaking, and hugging herself like she was trying to keep from falling apart. Go on home, Christina, Raef urged. He ain’t gonna bother you anymore.

It was about two point five seconds later that Brandon’s fist slammed into Raef’s face, breaking his nose and knocking him right on his butt.

Raef remembered he was holding his bleeding nose and looking up at the big kid through tears of pain and he’d thought, Why the hell are you so mean?

That’s when it happened. The instant Raef had wondered about Brandon, a weird ropelike thing had appeared around the boy. It was smoky and dark, and Raef had thought it looked like it must stink. It was snaking from Brandon up, into the air.

It fascinated Raef.

He stared at it, forgetting about his nose. Forgetting about Christina and Kevin, and even Brandon. All he wanted was to know what the smoky rope was.

Fucking look at me when I’m talking to you! It’s sickening how easy it is to kick your ass! Brandon’s anger and disgust fed the rope. It pulsed and darkened, and with a whoosh! it exploded down and into Raef. Suddenly Raef could feel Brandon’s anger. He could feel his disgust.

Completely freaked out, Raef had closed his eyes and yelled, not at Brandon, at the creepy rope, Go away! Then the most bizarre thing happened. The rope-thing had gone away, but in Raef’s mind he went with it. It was like the thing had turned into a telescope and all of a sudden Raef saw Brandon’s home—inside it. Brandon was there. So were his dad and mom. His dad, an older, fatter version of Brandon, was towering over his mom, who was curled up on the couch, holding herself while she cried and shook like Christina had just been doing. Brandon’s dad was yelling at his mom, calling her an ugly, stupid bitch. Brandon watched. He looked disgusted, but not at his dad. His look was focused on his mom. And he was pissed. Really, really pissed.

It made Raef want to puke. The instant he felt sick, actually felt his own feelings again, it was like turning off a light switch. The rope disappeared, along with the telescope and the vision of Brandon’s house, leaving Raef back in the very painful, very embarrassing present.

Raef opened his eyes and said the first thing that popped into his head. How can you blame your mom for your dad being so mean?

Brandon’s body got real still. It was like he quit breathing. Then his face turned beet-red and he shouted down at Raef, spit raining from his mouth. What did you just say about my mom?

Raef often wondered why the hell he hadn’t just shut up. Got up. And run away. Instead, like a moron, he’d said, Your dad picks on your mom like you pick on girls. I know ‘cause I just saw it. Inside my head. Somehow. I don’t know how, though. Raef had paused, thought for a second and then added, trying to figure it out aloud, Your dad was calling your mom an ugly, stupid bitch last night. You watched him.

Then the weird got, like, weird squared because Brandon reacted as if Raef had all of a sudden grown two feet, gained a hundred pounds and punched him in the gut. The big kid looked sick, scared even, and started backing away, but before he turned and sprinted down the street, he yelled the words that would cling to Raef for the rest of his life. I know what you are! You’re worse than a nigger, worse than a creeper. You’re a Psy—a fucking freak. Stay the hell away from me!

Oh, shit. It was true. No way … no way …

Raef had sat there, bloody, confused and—embarrassingly enough—bawling, while his best friend called his name over and over, trying to get him to snap out of it. Raef! Raef! Raef …

Mr. Raef? Raef? Are you there, sir?

Coming back to the present, Raef shook himself, mentally and physically, and picked up the phone, punching the intercom button off. Yeah, Preston, what is it?

Mr. Raef, your zero-nine-hundred appointment is here, thirty minutes early.

Raef cleared his throat and said, You know, Preston, it’s a damn shame my Gift doesn’t include predicting the future, or I’d have known that and been ready for her.

Yes, sir, but then I would probably be out of a job, Preston retorted with his usual dry humor.

Raef chuckled. Nah, there’d still be all that filing to do.

It’s what I live for, sir.

Glad to hear it. Okay, give me five and send her in.

Of course, Mr. Raef. Then I’ll get back to my filing.

Raef blew out a breath, grabbed his half-empty coffee mug and stalked over to the long credenza that sat against the far wall of his spacious office. He topped off the coffee and then stood there, unmoving, staring out the window. Not that he was actually seeing the excellent view of Tulsa’s skyline on this crisp fall day. Kent Raef was trying to scratch the weird itch that had been tickling his mind all morning.

What the hell was wrong with him? Why the walk down memory lane this morning? God, he hated the thought of that day—hated remembering that scared, crying kid he’d been. He’d just wanted to be shortstop for his team, and try to fit in with everyone else. Instead, he’d been a psychic. The only one in his class. Norms didn’t react so well to a Psy—especially not a nine-year-old Psy that could Track violent emotions, no matter how